


Personal Jesus

by velvet_and_shortchanged



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angels and Demons, Dirk Is Trying, Forbidden love oooooh, Guardian angel stuff, Happy Ending, M/M, Secret Relationships, Verbal Abuse, Wing worship/preening stuff, angst angst angst!!, jake is oblivious as usual, maybe smut later, mild physical abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-10-29 13:36:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17808944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvet_and_shortchanged/pseuds/velvet_and_shortchanged
Summary: Jake English cannot fucking die.He has tried, dammit, but even after three shots to the chest he is still alive and kicking.Dirk Strider is doing his fucking best, okay. But being a guardian angel is hard enough already- and now his seraph is threatening to abandon them, his little brother is mixing with demons, and he is madly in love with his human charge in ways he absolutely should not be.





	1. Angel With(out) A Shotgun

**Author's Note:**

> fucc i shoulda written this fic for karkat being troll Jesus i--
> 
> r e g r e t
> 
> oh well! Have this, ive gotten addicted to listening to music and then writing shitty quickfics. I might give this a second chapter but who knows.  
> Warning for some self harm sorta stuff!! Jake is a dummy :]
> 
> edit: Aight second chapter incoming soon. There's some very clear abuse from bro coming- as well as a side of davekat and witchy roxy for y'all.

_"Seventeen civilians were shot and killed at the local nightclub, 'Saturn', on 17th and Eastland Avenue last night. No suspects, nor a motive, has been reported yet. There were no survi-"_

Jake flicked off the television with a click of the remote. If he heard the newscaster's cheery voice again, he might just lose his marbles. 

Rising to stand from the old couch, he pushed off the cushions, quickly teasing a hand through the unruly dark curls falling in his eyes once more. He shuffled over to the "cozy" bathroom of his flat- it was more cramped than cozy, really, but he didn't mind all too much- and pressed a hand to the wall, feeling around for the switch. His fingers brushed cool plastic, and he turned it on.

As the single white florescent hung above his head lit up, he quickly scanned over his face. Green eyes behind angular glasses, tanned skin dotted with freckles, all as per usual! Nothing wrong there. 

His gaze moved farther down. He reached for the hem of the thin cotton t-shirt, hiking it up. 

Yes, there was some hefty muscle there, plenty of it from fisticuffs and time on the island. But that, of course, wasn't Jake's focus. 

It was the three partially closed bullet wounds on his chest that he couldn't tear his gaze from. He ran his fingertip over the broken skin, the rough edges, a gaudy swirl of reds and blues. The bullets had just disappeared. They went in, and didn't pop out the other side, didn't engrain themselves in him. They vanished. 

No survivors, his arse.

He _really_ shouldn't be alive. 

* * *

 

It had always been like this.

Not always, really. Back on the island, it didn't happen as often. 

It began when he was twelve. 

Another day, another adventure for Jake English. He had been tearing through the thick overgrowth of the vast tropical forest cover on his island. Birds chirping softly, bugs humming and the sound of distant water gurgling that he had yet to discover. 

All he saw was flashes of green and brown and blue, fan leaves being pushed aside to make way for the excited youth. 

He heard a low rumbling, the sound of a rattle, and a hiss like air being let out of a car tire.

Snake.

He looked around for a moment, searching for the creature. Maybe he'd have a new chum by the end of the day! Animals were no stranger to him, the lush forests were home to many a reptile that Jake enjoyed playing with like toys.

_Snake on his ankle._

_Snake biting his ankle._

He passed out moments later.

The venom sunk in so fast. He was dizzy and quickly crumpled over, seeing stars and birds flying over his head like in the few cartoons he had watched. The real birds squawked in the background despite his state, the water still bubbling and the insects still trilling.

As his vision began to fuzz, he figured this wasn't the worst way to go. Laying on the plush grassy forest floor, staring up at a cloudless azul sky. It could be worse.

And then he could see. He could feel his leg. His head was clearing. It was as though the venom was being drawn from his veins, slowly trickling out somehow. 

He was alive. The snake was no where to be seen.

And then again, when he was fifteen. Tripping down the stairs, nothing out of the ordinary. Just his klutzy self. Ah, but there was a crack like thunder that could be heard as he made impact with the ground. Ouch.

Broken bones weren't something duct tape and some gauze could fix- and that was really the English go-to fix all. He had bit down on his lip until the metallic taste of blood made itself home on his tongue. 

But it healed within the hour. The whole freakin' bone. Snapped like a twig, and then suddenly mended with some sort of magical superglue.

Jake hadn't really given it all too much thought until now. He had lived on the island, maybe it was something in the air or the plants he developed as a small child, quick healing. But it was all too absurd, too simple.

And as he stood in his bathroom, staring at the bullet wounds, he could almost swear he felt a ghost of hot breath near his left ear, and warm fingers on his shoulders. 

But looking back up to the mirror-

Of course there was nobody there, except for a man wounded in more ways than one.

* * *

 

Dirk had really gone too far this time.

He was done. He was royally, massively fucking screwed the hell over, upside down and backwards.

He truly had been careful, for a good while there. Only in the beginning. Never showing himself, not even leaving a feather behind. He had been meticulous about memory wiping humans, except for his own. He could never do that to Jake. He outright refused to damage his human's mind, to alter it in any way. 

"You absolute, utter fucking _dumbass_."

Dirk cringed as he felt the slap on his arm. Angels used to be fully equipped with claws, and only the oldest had them- his brother did. He was ancient- and also, bad at his job, in more way than one. They had the ability to sense human emotions, it made sense, considering they were supposed to be omniscient caretakers of the weak things below. But his brother had utterly manipulated that. Used humans for his own gain, consistently abandoned his human for other mortal pleasures. Dirk didn't necessarily disapprove of his ways in some lameass buzzkill kind of way- it was more the fact that he hurt all those innocents. 

But of course, he couldn't say that. That sorta shit would get him stabbed. Not fatal, but very painful- and his brother knew that, consistently using it to his advantage. It was Dirk's own fault, really, he should know not to aggravate him. He knew how Bro reacted to things. 

"I'm just doing what I'm supposed to," Dirk quietly defended himself. Talking back was not advisable. But he didn't want his actions to seem unwarranted, even to his brother.

"Yeah, and you also know what happens when you blow cover, you little shit. Don't you know what that'll do to us? Don't you know what that'll do to _me_?!" Bro gritted his teeth, grabbing at Dirk's shirt. "If I'm not here, you're absolutely _fucked_. What can you do without a Seraph? Huh? You can't do _shit_ on your own. You _need_ me here." 

He was right. 

This was Dirk's fault. And he certainly couldn't make it on his own. 

"I'll be better." His voice remained quiet, head slightly bowing. Not like he spoke any louder than that, anyways. Bro was the loud speaker of the group. 

"You better be. Because I'm taking your cloaking privileges."

Dirk opened his mouth to protest, and Bro narrowed his eyes. His mouth snapped shut. Bro was already turning on his heel- and he was gone in a ruffle of feathers.

"You can't let him get to you like that, dude."

Turning to face his younger brother, Dirk shook his head. Dave would never get it. He was the youngest, the last to join the group. "He's right. I can't keep fucking around the way I am. It'll hurt him."

Dave raised his eyebrows, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe. All angel groups had a home base- theirs just happened to be an abandoned apartment building. That's what it was now, at least. They had claim to the land, but only on heavenly grounds. It changed every so often. It was originally an ancient Mayan garden. Bro (who wasn't actually their brother, they all weren't related whatsoever, no angels were), actually Ambrose, had taken a liking to it. It was theirs for all of eternity, if they wanted it. 

"Which him are you talkin' about?" 

"Does it _matter_?" Dirk snapped, his voice raising slightly. Dave was gone seconds after. _Fuck_.

What the hell was he going to do?

Without his cloaking, he was completely visible to the human. And his human was, well... He was definitely a daredevil. He loved risk, he loved adventure. His island escapades clearly proved that. But even now, living in the city and working as a detective, of all things... His job was dangerous. And Jake was also, er. He was klutzy, and pretty fucking dense sometimes. He got injured a lot. Without Dirk there, he would die within the week.

This was a fucking disaster.

And it was all Dirk's fault.

* * *

Jake had decided to test his limits. 

He didn't know why these things happened to him. It didn't make any sense. His very first thought was that he was actually starring in the sequel to Unbreakable. But even that was rather far fetched, and Morgan Freeman hadn't showed just yet, so he was going to bide his time for now until the big guy showed up!

Rather wary of the whole process, he began his experiments small. It took three beers to get him to cross that line, now just a tad more than tipsy from his rounds of gigglewater. He accidentally knocked into the fridge door- ouch. Yeah, that definitely bruised, all right!

Now rubbing a mildly injured shoulder, he decided to kick it up a notch. "This oughta do the trick..." He murmured, carefully striking a match and running his fingers over the flame, then pressing his thumb to the tip of the lit match. Double ouch. His finger was only slightly burned, the callouses on his hands did a damn good job of protecting him. Fire was pretty much out, then, unless he felt keen on dousing himself in petroleum.

Who knew trying to get yourself injured could be so difficult?!

He'd had one more beer, and was getting close to desperate now for some kind of reaction. He wasn't even sure what he was looking for, just... He wanted something! He wanted to prove to himself that there was something, anything, keeping him from dying.

Fine, then. Playing hard to get. 

Jake trudged to the bathroom, not horribly injured, just inconvenienced, tipsy, and annoyed. He yanked open the first white drawer, rummaging through it- bandages, rubbing alcohol... Not exactly what he was looking for. Next drawer-

There we are, just what he was looking for!

This seemed rather drastic and dramatic. But he was alone, and so what if he got a little scratched up? Obviously he would stop before anything too dastardly happened to him. He was never really into this whole schtick, surely it was easy to stop.

His fingers curled around the edge of the blade, hand shaking just a bit over the bathroom sink, he glanced up to the mirror, biting his lip. It was a bizarre sight to see, but he was going to do it. Just one quick little gash was all it would be, nothing life threatening, just a last ditch attempt to prove something stupid to himself while skirting the edge of drunk.

He shut his eyes tight as the blade pressed onto his arm, and he could feel the cut opening slightly, blood would start to come-

An involuntary gasp slipped out as the blade was knocked from his fingers, going flying across the bathroom and skidding onto the tiled floor several feet away.

His eyes opened immediately, searching around for whatever the hell that was. A ghost? God himself, maybe? 

Nothing.

Except for blood pouring down his arm, so much blood, he did not expect this much blood. The wound wasn't very long or wide, just a quick slit on the top of his hand, but so much blood was coming out, so the blade must have cut deep. It was a miracle he didn't cut his face when he shaved with them. The bright red was spilling out, dripping onto the countertop, down the sink, and onto the floor. 

He was overwhelmed by the red. 

Jake's opposite hand dropped to grip the now bloody countertop, cool, polished stone a bit of a relief at first, until his free hand was smeared with blood as well.

"B-bollocks... Shoulda been more careful.." He muttered, but it was a useless afterthought, and now he was stumbling backwards onto the hard floor, a light pounding in his head. It wasn't the actual wound, which was still somehow dribbling blood down his arm, but the blood everywhere. There was so much, it was so insanely overwhelming and clouding all comprehendable thoughts he had. So much red...

"Should have been more careful, alright..." A disembodied voice whispered. He couldn't see a thing, his vision completely fogged over with light and blurs. His glasses were plucked from his face- that suddenly made things feel so much better, his head was no longer pounding a thumping rhythm. An extremely warm hand pressed to his forehead, and another to his forearm, the sudden contact and warmth making him feel less anxious and confused, slipping over to tired and woozy instead. 

He wanted more, he wanted whatever this was to stay. 

"Don't go," Jake croaked out finally, undoubtedly his last words for the next few hours, considering how quickly he was approaching unconsciousness. His fingers fumbled for the hand on his arm, quickly wrapping around the wrist of the mystery person/thing that was here. It had taken hold of him, an arm slipped under the small of his back carefully. 

"I won't." 

He was now desperately clinging to consciousness and tbe wrist of this- thing, whoever was watching over him. Jake wanted to remember every single thing he could. Unusually warm hands- and suspiciously large, rather large for a lass' hand, but with relatively slim wrists... But the timbre of the voice he faintly heard, softer than soft, was far too deep for any lady, even those with gorgeous, rich voices couldn't get nearly this deep. Most likely a man, then... He couldn't see a thing, just the faint outline of a tall figure, some broad shoulders, maybe, all shaded over with the harsh bright bathroom LED.

And with a final sigh, his waist pressing into the hand supporting his slowly sinking back, Jake was gone.

* * *

What the fuck. What the fuck. How could he be so utterly fucking stupid? How could he be so reckless? How could he abandon his brothers like this, being so goddamn selfish, only focusing on himself? He wasn't thinking at all, clearly, jeopardizing his position as well as both Dave and Bro's-

Thank you for listening to Dirk Strider's internal self-deprecation monologue, running 24/7, all day, every day, without fail.

Dirk was kinda panicking. And by kinda panicking, he meant freaking the absolute fuck out. He was sitting in the bed of his human, right next to the hopefully peacefully sleeping man.

After Jake had faded from consciousness, Dirk immediately bandaged up the cut on him- stupid, stupid boy, hurting himself for no reason, Dirk knew this was simply to catch the angel's attention... And damn, it worked unfortunately well. He hated the fact that he was so vulnerable, that he came so quickly. But really, he had come too late. Jake was already hurt, he had already done damage.

What if he was too late the next time?

That thought was the only thing in his mind as Dirk carefully wrapped Jake's hand in gauze. But he furiously pushed it to the back. Not now. He had to focus on his human, his darling human, who kept this bullshit up.

Dirk was tearing himself apart, ripping himself to shreds as he worried and worried and worried. Over his brothers, over his human, over his choices. There was no right answer. He sighed, easily scooping up the mortal, carrying him to the adjoining bedroom and laying him down on the bed, peeling off the blood covered shirt he was wearing, setting it aside in the bathroom. He could guess about that when he awoke. Surely he wouldn't be too cold in that dumb tank top... Ah, for fuck's sake, he was worrying like a fucking mom now.

Dirk just sat beside him, adjusting to the odd feeling of sitting on the springy bed, setting Jake's glasses on the small wooden table beside it. He would probably want those back at some point, after all. Shifting awkwardly at first, he glanced back the slumbering human, laying on his side and simply watching the way his chest rose and fell. And he watched. It was so weird to watch. Angels didn't sleep, they couldn't even if they wanted to. The guy just slept, not moving, but his brain still functioning.

Bizarre.

Dirk couldn't creep on him for much longer, the sun was rising, and surely he would be waking up soon. How long had it been? Probably too long. He had grown so ridiculously attached, angels weren't supposed to be nearly this caring with their charge. But Dirk had never been one for the ordinary. He continued to watch for a bit, before leaning down and pressing a kiss to his human's forehead. Weird, yeah. Definitely creepy. But Dirk just couldn't fucking resist, the way he was curled up partially, it was just so innocent and so plainly mortal. And he pressed a few more... it was hard to stop. He had these sudden urges lurching him back, the wish to care for this human and shower him in affection.

But that was absurd.

And as soon as Dirk sensed his human shifting around behind him, he froze, wings flushing out behind him. They weren't some giant, fluffy props, and they certainly weren't the tiny little things from the Victoria's Secret ads. They were large, for sure, taut muscle with a thin layer of slick ivory feathers. Definitely function over fashion, here.

And function they did. With the sun rising outside the apartment's window, Dirk pushed it open, slipping out- and he was gone. He had done his job.

And that's all it ever would be.


	2. Kissed By An Angel

Jake had become twice as freckled overnight.

When he examined himself in the mirror that morning, the wound on his hand hadn't completely disappeared, but it was neatly bandaged and didn't sting in the slightest. Which was odd, in more ways than one. Firstly, he doesn't have the faintest memory of bandaging his own hand, gadzooks, it's all foggy now! But then again, his memory isn't exactly the most reliable source at the moment... He didn't have the slightest trace of anything from last night laying around in his noggin. It was all blurred and warbled, as though it had happened underwater.

But after glancing over the somehow healing wound, he noticed that he was covered in freckles all of a sudden. There was a few on his shoulders now, as well as many more dotted along his jaw and neck, crawling across his collarbone. He certainly had several along the bridge of his nose and a few on his cheeks before, but now they covered his once-rosy cheeks and forehead. Jake English was suddenly covered in freckles, and he had no idea how the everliving hell it happened. It was the most bizarre thing. It wasn't as though he had spontaneously tanned in the night, either, so he had absolutely no explanation for this. Freckles couldn't just appear, could they..? He brushed it off as his vision somehow improving miraculously overnight, no matter how ridiculous and absurd THAT sounded, and even though he still needed glasses...

Oh well. This didn't seem like the kind of business he should worry himself into a hole about just yet.

It was Sunday afternoon, which was supposed to be God's day or something, he wasn't entirely sure, never being religious himself. But Sunday meant most businesses were closed, and he didn't have work. So what exactly was he supposed to do? 

That was the very question he was asking himself, because he sure as hell wasn't sure! His hand was already taken care of, and his memory remained fuzzy. He quickly made himself some breakfast- this was one of those times he missed his sister, she had such a way with baking, and he almost always burnt his jam tarts in the toaster oven. But as the day was finally kicking into gear, and he almost believed himself to be somewhat sane and functional once again, he slipped up. 

Insanely curious about the bandaging around his hand, Jake sat down on his bed, beginning to slowly unravel the neat bandaging work he must have done at an unholy hour last night. But once the wound was finally open, he got hit with a sudden tsunami of confusion, recalling, and dizziness. He nearly stumbled off the bed, fingers grasping at the bedspread to keep him upright as the room chased circles around him like a dog with its tail. He brought his head to his hands, screwing his eyes shut tightly with a quiet gasp. During this whole fit, he needed to get something out of it, there surely was something he remembered in the madness that was last night...

And suddenly, every single second of it came flooding back to him. 

He had hurt himself- the X-Acto knife was probably still laying open on the bathroom floor from where it clattered to the ground last night. And someone had come to save him. There really was someone watching over him. A tall, broad shouldered man wearing sunglasses that seemed to be oddly shaped in his fuzzy memories. But, Jiminy Christmas, he couldn't remember for the life of himself who it was. His images were faceless and brief. He had passed out far too soon. 

As the brief spell of madness finally came an end, Jake finally stumbled to the medicine cabinet, grabbing the Advil and gulping them down. Phew. That should help him out soon enough. 

He was determined to find out who (and what) his mysterious savior was. And he knew just the person to talk to!

* * *

 

A sharp slap echoed across the apartment walls.

"You're a fuckin _disgrace_."

Dirk swallowed down snarky retorts and grumblings, his hand crawling up to nurse the red mark on his cheek. He couldn't be a sullen teenager, he couldn't protest and argue, because it would ultimately result in Dave being left to his own devices (surely to disasterous results) and you being cast away to who knows where. Hell was supposed not too bad for the angels, but only if they managed to con their way to the top. Those weren't angels, really, anyways.

"I know-"

" _Did I say you could speak?_ " His voice raised, and Dirk knew he shouldn't speak for the rest of the week with that comment floating around the air. He quite liked having a face that wasn't beat up, so he was going to stay quiet and leave Jake to his own devices for a little while. ( _Liar. You know you're going to go check on him, because you're disgustingly and horribly in love with your darling human, and your brother totally knows it._ )

Their voices were the only two that could be heard besides the ones chastising Dirk inside his own head. They were alone, but the strange echo amplified the sound. It sounded like it was all theatrics, like they were fighting a on great stage, actually the best of friends outside of work, going to shout and scream and fight and then clap each other on the back offstage and make fun of their shitty managers. A young hotshot and an old timer.

If _only_.

"You _clearly_ didn't fuckin' listen to me last time. And if you keep this bullshit up, then I'm replacing you. Dave will take over, and you can go and screw some humans that _aren't_ under our protection like some sort of cheap whore." His words were always coated with a layer or four of ice, and this was no longer anything out of the ordinary. But he was Dirk's brother- sort of. The words still hurt and cut through him. Not that he'd ever say that. He was an _angel_ , and they weren't _therapists_ , they weren't meant for dealing with _emotions_ , they were supposed to protect select humans from physical harm, and do nothing more. They were the stage crew.

Dirk ran a hand through his spiked hair- it seemed to be a nervous tick he developed during all this, as he just couldn't seem to stop doing it now. Bro gave him one last breath-holding glare before stalking out of the building.

He doesn't even want to bother arguing with his younger brother as he heard him step inside the apartment building, and his phone dinging in his pocket.

"He's already all over my ass. Go have some fun, dude." 

Dirk grit his teeth, shaking his head, not even bothering to face Dave. "You don't _get it_."

"I think I do, actually. He won't fuckin' leave me alone now, either. He's just getting worse. Do you _not_ remember what happened with Hal-"

" _Stop_."

Dave sighed softly behind him, his phone pinging in his pocket for the second time since he's been in the room in the past minute.

"...Who's texting you?" Dirk finally broke the silence a moment later, simply out of curiosity. The angels didn't use their phones much, they didn't exactly have a lot of humans to communicate with besides their human-married sister Rose. 

"It's no one," Dave responded hastily, but he slipped out his phone and glanced at it anyways. 

"Who's texting you, Dave? You don't have an active assignments, and Rose is on vacation." 

"It's _no one_." His face goes blank, a warning sign Dirk didn't feel like pushing at. He turned, stepping out the door before spreading light grey wings and heading off to who knows where.

Something was up with him- and Dirk was decidedly going to follow.

\---

"C'mon, _Jakeeey_. Y'gotta believe me! Would I BS you?"

Jake shook his head impatiently, huffing and tilting his ear to his shoulder as he tried to balance it carefully there. He was carrying two coffees in his hands already, going to meet his friend Roxy at her apartment. She was his landlord, she had access to security cameras outside the rooms in the hallways. Whoever had gotten into Jake's room last night would certainly show up there, unless they scaled the side of the building. But what she was offering sounded a little bonkers.

"Roxy, that sounds posilutely _absurd_! Can't you hear yourself?"

"I'm telling ya, Jakey! Some 'effed up shiz, yeah, but it was late at night. A dude with big ol' fluffy badonkers on his back! He looked like he had come right on down from playing the harp or some'in."

"I'm not one to dismiss the existence of the mystical hullabaloo you acclaim to, but this just seems ridiculous! An _angel_? Why would such a heavenly being from all the way up in the clouds bother himself with a plain Englishman like myself?" Jake sighed, glancing off to the side at a shop across the bustling street. It was one of those steamy lingerie shops- he'd always been rather bold and brave, but even so, going in there wasn't something he felt he could do without looking a little pink!- sporting two mannequins, one with cheesy angel getup. Even just that made him think for a hot second. If they weren't real, then how the crikey did humans make them up in their heads like that? It was such a common and specific trope, it couldn't have sprung from no where! There had to be some interaction with a form of winged humans at some point. 

As Jake was rather entrenched in his own thoughts, something had happen on the other side- it sounded as though Roxy had dropped her phone into her pot of mac 'n cheese _again_ \- and Jake had proceeded to crash smack dab into someone simply minding their business, spilling coffee everywhere.

"Oh- _jiminy Christmas-_ so sorry, it sure seems like my train of thought went straight off the rails there!" Jake hastily apologized, bending down and offering a hand to the poor lad he'd knocked to the ground. 

"Ah, I've gone and ruined your shirt as well-" He muttered, shoving his phone in his pocket and sighing, stepping forwards and dabbing at the coffee staining the man's shirt. He glanced up apologetically, but this man didn't seem concerned at all, he tensed up as Jake's fingers came in contact with him, lips forming a tight line.

"Nah, 's fine- I've, uh, I gotta go- no, 's fine," The man protested. Jake pulled his hands away quickly- he knew he could be rather touchy, and some people did not enjoy that in the slightest, so he was trying to be better about it lately. He seemed like he wanted to get off Jake and run as quickly as he could. But there was something about his face that Jake recognized. He wasn't sure what it was at first- his blond hair was spiked up and back, he was tanned and freckled, looking (and sounding) very traditionally Southern. But he almost felt something under those bedeviling triangle shades he was wearing, if he could get those off...

"No, no, I've just _abso-freakin'-lutely_ ruined your shirt! At the risk of pushing boundaries, I could have your number and offer to make this up to you at some point in the future, chum..?" Jake's voice was slightly hopeful- this wasn't exactly the best way to hit on a stranger, but he felt like he knew this man from somewhere. His eyes darted around, and the coffee on his shirt was beginning to dry. He almost seemed wary of Jake, oddly enough. Did they really encounter each other at some point, and Jake was just being a bozo? 

"H-here.." He muttered a moment later, digging through his pocket to retrieve an ornate pen, and a grin spreads across his face as he scribbles his phone number on the back of Jake's hand. Mission accomplished!

Jake glanced up, mouth open and beginning to ask one final question- but the man was already gone. Jake didn't even catch his name after their exchange. 

What an mind boggling fellow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehehehe… this whole chapter began because I wanted to write about freckles = angel kisses. 
> 
> I have been completely slacking on Jake's absurd dialogue, it's gotten to the point where I'm considering search and replace lmao.
> 
> We're going to be finding out about what's going on with Dave soon… He's been mixing with the wrong sort lately ;)
> 
> I HAVE A TUMBLR (an ancient one i made on mobile, but it's there) go send me requests/prompts! https://www.tumblr.com/blog/velvet-and-shortchanged


	3. Say My Name, Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> man i hate that this had more chemistry than my earlier chapters. I swear the davekat thing is gonna be more minor- but if people really like it I'll make a second series.
> 
> Go on, now, read your 2k of fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all know what time it is...  
> Davekat time.  
> I swore I'd do some decent Dirkjake this week, but I've been listening to Jet and Black Keys, and it's either fiery Davekat or forcing out some quadrant  
> vacillating Cronkri. Lemme know if you sinners want any of that.

All it took was the creak of what wasn't really his bedroom door to make Dave nearly jump through the fucking ceiling.

His wings had flown out defensively in the process of him flashstepping to the window, head bowed and fists trembling slightly as they pressed into the cool metal that rimmed the window. It wasn't open, but he could still hear the faint rush of the cars below them through the glass.

"D'vidrial, it's not him,"

Karkat was peeking over Dave's large, battered wings, still on his knees against the bed, fingers absently fussing with the sheets. The long black claws that extended from dark, slightly scaly hands were gripping the cotton- a few nails poking holes and ripping it. 

Oops. 

Dave's breath wasn't labored as it sometimes got during close calls. He just seemed scared. Karkat had to sit up further on his legs just to get a glance of his blond hair. His wings were always particularly thin and long, but they were almost taking on a gaunt look as feathers had been shedded. 

He was still fuckin' toasty from Perdition, smoke even coiling slightly off the left one, giving off the scent of old incense and burnt fabric. Karkat could rarely get himself out of hell, but Dave had an all access pass to all five levels. That didn't mean the trips were difficult, however. It was tiring, dragging a heavy demon all the way from floor 666 to the mortal plane. He came back fatigued, wings always slightly singed and dropping slick black feathers all over the palace as they stumbled down the stairs. Karkat would always nag him to get to bed, not to sleep of course, but simply to lay down. He only obliged when he knew Karkat would curl up with him.

"Y'know, you don't gotta call me that. 'S just Dave now." Dave hadn't turned back to face him (technically them, Karkat didn't like the whole human schtick of being a dude or a dudette), just partially mumbled down to the cold hardwood floor beneath his feet. But the quiet words roused him from his little flashback.

"Your human name is gross and boring."

A weak chuckle passed between the angel's lips. Alright, he could give Karkat that one. His human name was much easier to pronounce for the Americans he was surrounded by, however. That didn't mean Karkat couldn't like his "real" one, though.

"Fair."

There was a momentary silence as both of them thought and then listened. No sound from below or above. No Dirk. No Bro. Just them.

"Get your heavenly ass over here, D'vidrial."

It took him another long moment, but Dave shuffled back over to the bed- pausing to tug every single one of the sheer curtain sets together and absently flicking his hand behind him, a gust of wind quickly slamming the door shut. It really was the little displays of power like that got a small smile on Karkat's face and a glow on his cheeks. It was kind of hot, the way he could just do that. The way he wholly had the choice to snap every one of Karkat's limbs (not that he would be able to without one hell of a fight) and yet- he didn't. 

Karkat glanced up, snapping out of his silly lovestuck haze as he felt weight on the mattress, a dent being added as Dave sat down across from him. He could see Dave's hands fidgeting with the fabric of his jeans.

"D'vidrial is your damn name, and that's what I'll call you. Alright?" His tone was scratchy and a bit harsh on the ears, as always, and his demeanor wasn't all too different. But Dave always understood his not-so-cruel intentions. He slipped his hands over the angel's- who flinched at the sudden contact, but didn't push him off or protest.

He couldn't blame Dave at all, really. If his older brother (who was a goddamned menace, literally) walked in on Karkat in a heated, bloody makeout session on an angel's bed, he'd probably be shoved down to the Ok-ish People ward, forced to do the boring ass shit for eternity. No more spiked whips or specialty daggers, _noooo_. Just creating underwear-in-public and falling-on-your-face scenarios for eternity.

Karkat could still slightly taste the sweet angel blood on his fangs, and he ran his tongue along the smooth outsides of his (many) canines. They were sharp, so sharp that his mouth was tough and filled with scars from all the accidental nicks he gave himself. Dave was still adjusting. There was a few cuts along his lower lip, as well as several along his tongue. Karkat always did his best to clean him up, licking away the blood, even though his tongue was barbed and catlike. His mouth would feel so nice if it got filled with little scars from Karkat, even if it wasn't so pleasant for the angel. If he was honest, Karkat would admit that he had purposely nipped at the angel a few times just to taste his blood. They weren't big bites! He just loved how delicious the angel blood was. Of course there was dumb folklore about it's bullshit healing powers- but that was all false. It did, however, taste sweet and almost syrupy.

But Dave never once complained.

The opposite, in fact.

His hands slid from their awkward resting place on his own thighs over to Karkat's hips, pressing through his sweater to find his hip bones. Dave's head dipped as it did by the window, but it was simply to rest his forehead against Karkat's shoulder, before turning his head to press his nose and lips to his neck. Karkat would never have a pulse, he would never have a steadying heartbeat, but Dave did enjoy the way he tensed up slightly when things came in contact with his neck, the way he knew Dave was trustworthy enough to get to one of the very few sensitive and weak parts of him- his ribs and ankles were the same way.

" _Kayrkulait_."

Dave's smooth voice saying his name like _that_ against his skin earned a shudder. He could nearly feel the black ridges along his spine protruding just from that. Dave's voice was damn nice. It wasn't heavenly or angelic, it wasn't beautiful and flowing. Angels weren't meant to be _that_ pretty, even high tier ones like Dave (who was, in fact, **_gorgeous_** ). They were still intended to be warriors. There certainly wasn't anything particularly amazing about his voice, but it was low, and much smoother than Karkat could ever dream of, like someone who drank liquid cough drops all the time.

"Didn't even know you..." Karkat's sentence trailed off in a soft breath, having to take another just to continue. "... Didn't know you knew that. Who the _fuck_ \- who told you?"

His name was not known by many higher ups, mostly by the souls he was trying his damn best to torture. He kind of hated it. Supposedly it meant some sappy shit about the morning dawn, but he had never bothered to actually learn a dead language or two to see.

"It's pretty fucking great, 'nd that's all that matters." Dave certainly wasn't going to tell him he had done a _very_ thorough Google dig on Karkat, and on other famous demons. There obviously wasn't much that was true- but apparently, he got a few truths, like his real name.

"It's disgusting. My _father_ gave it to me." The hurt and disgust in his voices is unshakeable. Dave's hands slipped around to the small of Karkat's back, fingers tracing small circles into the surprisingly soft skin. He silently felt around for the smooth spikes that poked out by Karkat's spine, one of his favorite parts of the demon.

"Well, fuck him, then," Dave murmured nonchalantly, pretending like he wasn't giving the middle finger to Satan himself. Hey, his kid was already fucking around with an angel, it wasn't like things had suddenly changed. " _Let me love you_."

Damn. Lines like that always got to Karkat. Sappy ass angel and his proclamations of love. The only good thing the human race ever did was love. Karkat had several human romantic movies that totally proved so. Dave's hands were still on his back, trying to find any skin they hadn't yet touched. Karkat had to push back a happy growl and a whimper. It was honestly fucking sad how little touch was need to fuck him up like this. Another millenia goes by, and he's still a pathetically touch starved demon. He feels like every day he spends with Dave he gets more human. More mortal. 

His father would call him pathetic.

"Hey, still with me, dead boy?" Karkat snapped out of his self deprecating internal monologue once again, for the third fucking time. He nodded slightly, pressing his nose and lips to the top of Dave's head, taking a small inhale. "You _know_ I'm not fucking dead," He huffed a moment later, shaking his head to brush the hair out of his line of sight. 

"C'mon, I gotta come up with _some_ sorta cheesy nickname for ya." Dave shifted, slipping his legs around Karkat's waist quietly and playfully nudging his hip with an exposed knee. Karkat rolled his eyes, making sure not to accidentally roll them back- it was a terror tactic he often used, but Dave nearly screeched when it accidentally happened once- and fussed with the angel's hair, shifting to support his weight.

"If you're so creative, I'm sure you can come up with something, you nerd." Karkat knew every insult in the book. Literally. He _owns_ that book. He was a fucking _coauthor_. But when talking to Dave- his insults didn't even scrape the surface. They were the weakest, softest ones. He could almost pinpoint every insecurity Dave had without even trying, and he never went past "dickhead". 

It was funny how contradictory they were. How Karkat knew every single little thing Dave worried about, how he could pull bad memories from his mind like pulling thread through a needle. It was so easy to recognize the things that broke him. And yet, Dave could find and remember all the stupid things that comforted Karkat. That made him feel _good_. It was so easy for the two of them to tear each other apart, and then piece them back together.

" _Mm_.." Dave had been quietly humming as the two thought. Something cheesy, probably. All Star, or Britney Spears. Something trashy and ironic.

"Kitkat. iKarly. I dunno." He shrugged.

"Wow. I expected more from you."

"Fine, fine! You're... _Haha_. _Ahaaaaha_." Dave was snickering below him, and Karkat frowned and raised an eyebrow. What the hell could be so fucking funny. His name was weird enough there wasn't much room for dumb nicknames.

"Got something you'd like to share with the class?"

" _Heh_. You're-" The angel burst into soft laughter, falling flat onto his back, arms and legs detangling from Karkat as he clutched his sides.

"Spit it out already! Whatever the hell you came up with can't be _that_ funny."

"You're my little devil."

Karkat promptly smacked him with a pillow until it was raining more feathers onto the floor than remained on his wings, as Dave rolled around laughing.

And for a moment, it wasn't like they were hiding at all.

 


	4. Your Date Has A Halo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What the FUCK is up, I didn’t post at all last week like a little bitch but it’s a-okay! Today and tomorrow's posts are a “technically-1-chapter-but-it’s-split-into-2” special all queued up this week. Enjoy the brotherly love and overly described phone call  
> leave me feedback if you like/dislike this, it feeds my soul!  
> ps- I had the help of this tumblr: http://wordsjakeenglishwouldsay.tumblr.com because, Jake, honey, you talk like a ‘20s bartender.

It’s a miracle Dirk didn’t shatter his own phone when it rang, honestly.

His legs loosely dangled over the edge of the rooftop, and he could make out the misty outlines of a dark alleyway. Maybe some cardboard boxes down there, some crates and empty trash bins. He glanced up, pulling a hand from behind him and sliding his shades up onto his forehead, pushing against his hair. The cold wind nearly knocked them off a few times. As the breeze blew over his neck, he glanced up over the tops of other buildings. This definitely wasn’t the tallest building in the city, and he knew damn well Houston had plenty of crazy high rise skyscrapers. But it wasn’t on any busy streets, so it was quieter. Not serene, there was always the honk of a car horn or a dog barking, maybe glass shattering once in a while. But mostly, quiet.

**Ding fucking ding, wake up, dickhead.**

His wings immediately shot out, causing a large gust of wind to ruffle his hair and probably knock some of the stupid fucking daydreams cluttering his head away. What the hell was with him lately, he was like a twelve year old dealing with an uncontrollable boner prowess, his wings shooting out all over the place like a giant feathery dick. He shouldn’t even be up here, he had work to do- namely, getting reassigned. This was so fucking stupid, he barely knew Jake (and yet, he knew the man better than he knew himself all the same) and he was already head over heels. Why wasn’t this assignment like any of his other ones? Why did he _care_ so much? Was he really so desperate and needy for attention he was convincing himself-

_**DING FUCKING DING. SOMEONE’S CALLING YOU. PICK UP, FEATHERBRAIN.** _

Oh fuck- his phone.

He turned, bending at the knees to crouch and pick up his phone, glancing at the screen- unknown number? How did anyone even get his number..? The only people who had it were Rose, Dave, and Bro.

“Uh- Hello? Who is this?” He finally mumbled after answering.

“Hello? Chum, is that you? I’m the unfortunately clumsy lad who ran into you yesterday?”

Oh, fuck. It was _Jake_. Thinking he was just a human who had coffee spilled on him. 

“Yeah- it’s me, yeah. Hey.” Nice phone conversation skills, Dirk. But when you’re a thousand year old being who didn’t even know how to work a toaster until two weeks ago, it’s not like like his electrocommunication skills are going to be the best. He hoped the heavy quality to his breathing wasn’t all to evident over the phone.

“Oh, tell it to Sweeney, I thought I had scooped up the wrong digits, there!” His joyful laugh made Dirk ache a bit. Jake was just _so_ joyful, so happy all the time, and it hurt just hearing him so happy. Seeing him sad made Dirk ache in a different way, in an angel way. He felt the urge to swoop down and wrap his human up, quiet him and release his mind from its turmoil.

“No. It’s me,” Dirk murmured in return. “Uh- why are you calling, m-” He’s _Jake_. Don’t call him _your human_ now, for fuck’s sake. He has a name- “Jake.”

“Oh, of course! Before I let myself drown you in some ridiculous ear-hooey, I was wondering if you’d let me grab a coffee with you or something of the like in response to the awful sockdolager I pulled on you yesterday.” 

Dirk was silent, swallowing. He could understand Jake- even after being alive for a few hundred years, he still recalled some of the old, weird slang Jake seemed prone to tossing out. But he was a little stunned. The very idea of going out, and spending time normally with the man he was practically in love with, the _human_ he was practically in love with, was insane. He was blanking, not even sure what to say. What if his brother found out? What if the Seraph Council found out? He would be banished for communing with a human he shouldn’t so closely, and his own charge nonetheless. He was technically under cover, but that doesn’t change much. If he didn’t have real, pure, impersonal intent, he was fucking _screwed_. But the clock was ticking.

“Still there, mate?”

“Yes, I’m here. Sorry. Uh, yeah, actually, that sounds great.” 

Dirk _swore_ he could hear the grin spread across his face.

“Posilutely peachy! Oh, I never grabbed your name, although I’m sure it’s perfectly delightful and fitting.”

“Dirk.” Man, it felt weird to say that. He would never get used to his human name, the syllables felt foreign under his tongue, like he was spitting gum out.

“ _Dirk_! Wonderful. Special name for a special tweik. How does tomorrow sound?”

Dirk paused, thinking. Was this a good idea? No, absolutely not. Bro would kill him. Bro would legitimately try to kill him. But would it be worth it?

“Sounds great.”

“See you then!” 

They both hung up, leaving Dirk standing his bedroom silently, a small breeze drifting through, phone in hand.

“Dude. You’re _totally_ gonna regret that.”

Dirk swears his brother can teleport. 

“What the fuck, D’vidrial.”

His brother chuckled as he slipped his phone into his pocket. Dave took a few steps forward, rolling his shoulders with a knowing grin on his face. 

“Didn’t mean to eavesdrop, except that I did. And _wow_. Going out with your charge, huh? Tap that _ass_ , man. You got good taste, at least make use of it.”

Dirk didn’t respond, just squinted slightly at Dave over his shades, who raised his eyebrows and glanced down at his feet quickly. “What? Do I got bird shit on my shoe or somethin’?”

Dirk was still silent, taking a few steps forwards and reaching out- plucking a single, short black hair off his shoulder. He watched Dave’s adam’s apple bob, his throat tightening slightly, his fingers curling into nervous fists. _Caught you, bitch_.

“Where did this come from?” Dirk asked slowly.

“My charge, man. I was goin’ through her shit like a raccoon in a dumpster behind a low-scale pizzeria, tossing brushes and all this makeup-y shit _everywhere_ -” Dave tossed out as quickly as he could.

“You haven’t had a job in years. We all know Bro quietly assigned you to Rose. Her hair is blonde, and her fiance's hair is long than this.”

“Haha, how the fuck do you know that? You spyin’ on our half-sister, dude? That’s creepy as _shit_ -”

“ _Dave_ ,” Dirk warned.

He was silent.

“I can’t talk about him,” He mumbled a moment later. Dirk felt a small swell of pride- Dave trusted him. Even though he wasn’t giving anything _close_ to the full story, he gave something, stopped the incessant rambling and gave a real reason.

“And I can’t talk about mine, either. But here we are.” 

Dirk blew the hair away, reaching out and playfully ruffling his not-actually-his-brother’s hair, who cringed and swatted at his arm. “Aw, c’mon, man, fuck you!”

“We’ll talk later.”

Dave was gone a few moments later.

Dirk was confident his brother would return with answers- but that he would request some in return, as well.

He glanced to the empty doorway, peeking out down the blank hallway as well.

Dirk gave a silent little fist pump.

He got a _date_.


End file.
